


crossroads (the then come back remix)

by bladeCleaner



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Americana, F/F, Fairy Tale Elements, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderqueer Character, Magic, Road Trips, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 20:02:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7588147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bladeCleaner/pseuds/bladeCleaner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A city-queen, two demon-hunters, a 2001 Dodge and some version of America.</p>
            </blockquote>





	crossroads (the then come back remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Phrenotobe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phrenotobe/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Hallowed Be Thy Chainsaw](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1659845) by [Phrenotobe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phrenotobe/pseuds/Phrenotobe). 
  * Inspired by [Home safe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1679345) by [Phrenotobe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phrenotobe/pseuds/Phrenotobe). 



> Suggested listening playlist in the end notes. Playlist may contain extremely mild spoilers.  
> 

They’re parked at an abandoned gas stop between Nowhere and Tourist Trap. Black hair streaming behind eir and the red flannel all tinted by midnight, she watches the demon hunter circle the place like ey’s trying to trace a map with their pacing. Then, so quick and casual she almost misses it, ey flicks eir wrist and she watches something alight and magickal pass from finger to soil.

Ey catches her watching and grins.

“Old travellers’ spell." Ey say. “Trucker habit.”

Eir partner snorts through fanged teeth. 

> REWIND.

* * *

Eir truck radio knows ey's going into the city well before the truck does. The last town's local radio stations slide into polished city accents, country morphing into Top 40 Hits, gimmicky soulsucking radio shows tuning into NPR segments. Ey feels the grin of the city in eir heart, all teeth, taking eir in. Monsterslayer, head collector, and ey wears the title proud and worthy. Ey pass. 

* * *

The city’s hers. The city grows on her like moss on a river rock. She works the city till it’s forced to give her bones, sometimes the fat still lingering on it, smelling of burger grease, cheap hair gel and gasoline. Rule of the city is: everyone eats, one way or another, and if someone is eating a fellow hungerghast in between blocks nobody says and someone mutters about a dental insurance claim. So, it’s like every other city you’ve been in, only the wolves are less subtle and the shadows go darker, as does the coffee.

Welcome.

* * *

Smatterings of conversations overheard:

“I just want to get out of the city for a while.”

“-wish I could live in the woods –”

“-fuck this town-”

There’s dark laughter. You can’t escape her. You’ll always come back. She’s in your blood, after all. Through your rental agreements, your bus stop humming, your newspaper fries, rooftop parties and pavement kisses. If you were born here you’ll never leave. The country offshoots flit in and out and maybe if they’re un/lucky they’ll seep into the sidewalk like oil and become like you, but you were raised here. Doesn’t matter if you move to another city, Durham or Tijuana, you’ll never get out.

* * *

Ey has tool lube and food grade oil in the backseat swishing around. Ey drives through the edges of the city. Small businesses become Costcos and Best Buys and towering buildings; industrial districts blow out across the sky. Ey watches the sidewalks begin to fill up, a million different creeds and nationalities. Ey’s eir cell phone coverage goes up to full bars and texts start rolling in, _enjoy your stay in this city, would you like to never leave?_

But ey’s on a mission, and so ey drives through the traffic jams and bookstores. Ey stops by Chinatown, an international hodgepodge of cultures that America wishes Asia would just be instead of nuanced and multitudinous. Ey grabs pho and discusses with the auntie in Vietnamese about the weather, the auntie calling em good looking. Ey feels a strange pull of kinship until ey pulls out of the lot and feels empty again.

* * *

Ey doesn’t entertain the thought of being thoughtful and talks to strangers. To anyone, everyone, and even if it’s the city and people turn up their nose at talking with strangers, ey grins and laughs at eir own jokes until their faces soften and they reply.

_There’s this beautiful park, you know, where we went on our first date  –_

_I think it was the fountain next to my college –_

_The beach, for real –_

_This guy, Luis, he’s owned the coffee shop for 15 years –_

_… the big bookstore in the middle of downtown, maybe –_

Everyone has a different answer – imagine them in different languages, voices sharp or soft or rough or breath full of smoke - until a person, tattoos crawling out of their shirt looping words into their neck, says, _well, I think, personally, heart’s different for all kinds of people. Just…go. Find it. The right place._

For a second ey digests that, then eir face splits into a smile. “I want to say that sounds absolutely stupid,” ey says. “But that’s perfectly right. Thank you!”

She calls after eir as ey gets back into eir truck. “Good luck!”

* * *

The list of her names are varied, many forgotten; Atropos, Nortia, 城隍神, हयग्रीव, सच्चियाय माता/सच्चिया माता.

For the purposes of this story, her name is Rose.

* * *

She watches em.

The city may be beauty, but the city is too swivelling cameras taking pictures of its citizens; hung on bus lines and telephone poles. So she watches. There is an ache in the city’s queen, watching em move through a bank’s external camera - lit up red and orange with all eir human warmth. But she knows eir is no ordinary human, just as she knows the highest notes the late night janitor can hit at 2 a.m. when utterly alone in a megamall or how homeless teenagers’ knees bend while eating Pizza Hut off spare change sitting on the curb.

Ey turns and smiles directly at another camera, a CCTV outside a locally owned deli. Ey mouths something. _Come find me_ , instead of _where are you?_

* * *

Rose bristles. She is light and sound and so much cruelty. She will not be summoned.

(GG: no matter how angry you are  
GG: or how hard you push me away  
GG: i will always be there for you no matter what!!!)

* * *

She finds eir at a park. Ey is wearing cheap sunglasses ey picked at a Dollar Tree. Ey is dipping eir pretzels in a cup of yogurt, sitting on a bench languorously enjoying the midday sun and the lake stretching out, nearly blinding anyone without good eyewear.

Rose manifests only a slight breeze and a paper gathers at Jade’s feet.

Jade picks it up by the edge, flaps it straight in the wind so ey can read it proper. It’s a flyer, advertising a band’s last reunion gig at the historical landmark hotel on Main Street.

* * *

Rose awaits her in the ballroom. The vast space is basked in orange light and the window frames are gilded gold.

Her throne for the evening is a throne of flesh and body, still warm, veins showing in colorful configurations. She’s wearing a black dress, cut at the knees. Her face is made up. She can still smell the Clinique powder and Urban Decay setting spray. It’s all a front, of course; Rose tends towards hasty rings of lip balm and Christmas gifted cologne more than anything, and this time of year is more shorts and tees. But it’s her turf. Her power, seen through a magnified lens. 

In truth, part of em is hers, as is any who pass through her. But –

Jade clatters through the ballroom loudly, the double doors closing behind her. Ey’s wearing Converse and oil on eir cheek. Rose wants to wipe it away.

Ey spots Rose and eir whole face blooms into brightness – Rose wants to squint or look away. “Rose!”

Rose says nothing.

Jade is entirely unfazed by Rose’s intimidation tactics, such as the impressive chandelier, the polished windows overlooking the rest of the city and the gleaming floors.

“Give the Road-Queen my regards,” Rose says coolly. “But I’m disinterested in re-opening negotiations.”

“Oh! You know, I’m not her envoy,” Jade says. “I’m just as confused as you are!”

Rose raises an eyebrow. “You know, whenever you’ve stated that to me it has never been entirely verifiable.”

“Have we met before, Your Highness?”

Rose nearly tilts forward, tongue tipping on yes. She pushes down on her elbows to resist looking that eager. Her throne, pliable, pits underneath them and protests with a mild pulsating beat. She searches her mind and comes up with – not a memory, but echoes. No. She doesn’t remember this one, but –

“No. We have not, Dust-Truck Pagan.”

Jade grins like eir’s lips are forming the words, _are you sure?_

Rose now does lean forward, placing both hands on armrests made of bone. “You, tirekin, scented of car freshener and beef jerky, are trespassing. You are an eyesore in my territory even if you are somehow mine. I want you gone.”

“Aw, Rose! Don’t you like visitors?”

“Not ones like you.”

“Hey, that was mean. My name’s Jade. I’m actually here to ask you a favor, and then I’ll be out of here so fast. Pchooo!”

“You have – you want to ask _me_ a favor?”

“Sure! Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

 _Yes_. “Not in particular. I’ve already wasted enough time on this affair, so, Jade  - ”

“I’m a demon-hunter, you know?”

“Demon-hunters in the cities are a dime a dozen.”

“Yes, but I want _the_ demon.”

Rose tenses and reaches for the electricity grid –

“I want to find the one who claims the roads as her own, who stole your power all those centuries ago, who owns enough souls to not need mine anymore.”

Rose’s throat is dry. “What would you ask of me?”

“My soul is the stars she stole from me,” ey say. “I want it back. Will you help me?”

“I am almost powerless outside of the city boundaries,” Rose replies. “What aid could I possibly be to you?”

“Company always helps,” Jade says. “I think it’ll be fun, anyway.”

“You want to hunt one of the most dangerous American gods there is and that’s fun to you?”

“It’s exciting!”

“I liked you better just now when you were being archaic and dramatic.”

“Bluh bluh, I had to talk like a historian because of rules and junk. _Now’s_ the fun part.”

Rose shakes her head. She steps off her throne, which turns to ice, and crosses the ballroom where Jade’s hand is outstretched.

They clasp hands and the shimmering, dimly orange chandelier turns to gold.

* * *

Rose examines Jade’s 2001 Dodge pickup truck with fascination. Jade tosses her a bundle of clothes from the back of the truck. Rose flicks her eyes at the clothes, then back at Jade, who says, “Change into them! Don’t be silly. It’s a lovely dress, but you can’t sit in the truck in that the whole night. It’s okay if you’re worried about ruining them. They’re yours.”

Rose has not owned things since the rise of crowdsourcing. Rose does not own a car, a stove, clothing that has not passed a million hands down and will pass a million hands still. Rose fingers soft flannel and sweatpants. Jade has a duffel bag with her name on it and tells her to take a shower before they go. She showers in the hotel’s fancy master suite on the top floor, relishing in her power before it’s taken away from her. The bathtub has a Bluetooth speaker, the shampoo and body wash are both USDA Organic and the towels are endless. She’s going to miss this, at least.

When she gets into the truck her hair is still wet, wispy white strands falling around her face. Jade says, “You hungry?” and without waiting for an answer, steps on the gas.

* * *

Someone’s leaning on the truck when they’re out of the city, Jade having paid for drive-thru milkshakes and fries.

The stranger’s wearing a military jacket, combat boots and jeans. She smiles, prim and proper and small. Rose is the Queen of cities and their monsters but an echo of fear reverberates in her nightlit ribcage – and familiarity, encroaching, the way you spot someone across a laundromat and their hair is exactly the way you remember it was the morning after you two made love. Her heart stutters open and shut.

The stranger’s horns are sharp and she’s a deathly pale ash, vacillating between grey and white.

Jade looks like ey’s about to burst, but doesn’t say a word aside from folding the stranger into a bone-crushing hug. Then ey claps her on the back and keeps walking. Kanaya spins around and asks, “May I kiss you?”

Jade’s face freezes for only a millisecond before ey reels her back in, kissing her only briefly. Ey looks at Rose right after. Rose is suddenly eager to leave – or jump into another passing car – anything.

* * *

 Her name is Kanaya, and yet it isn’t. In this American time, this modern American time Kanaya is still too – foreign. Doesn’t roll off the tongue. Her driver’s license says Katherine but no one calls her that, just calls her honey and darlin’ but without being as sure as they usually are, like they’re afraid to breathe Kate or Kathy or anything shortened and asinine.

* * *

 “I have loaded my gear in the truck,” Kanaya tells Jade.

“The Space Exterminators ride again,” Jade says cheerfully. Rose lingers in the background as Jade slides the back of the truck’s opening mechanism open and inspects Kanaya’s supplies, including a hard cooler and a chainsaw.

“Type?” Jade yells, voice muffled.

“Mixed.”

Rose doesn’t say anything as crass as _excuse me, what are you two discussing_ , only walks forward and greets Kanaya with a singular civil nod. Kanaya’s gaze is placidity without condescension, and she just takes in Rose and nods back.

* * *

There is fiddling involved with the seat arrangements. Jade and Kanaya may be two demon hunters and Rose may be the queen of oilstreaked sidewalks and terrific street food, but there is no arguing with the ergodynamics of a 2001 Dodge. Which is to say, there is a lot of shuffling, apologies and seatbelts getting caught on the door, and cursing. Rose is delegated to the middle, due to size.

They all settle, eventually, all three of them lacking leg space but knowing that this is the best that will suffice.

Rose tries to then delegate in her absence. Her phone is curve to point – cheekbone to jawline practically molded. Jade jokes that the thin piece of plastic and wire may, or may not, burrow under her skin. Rose shoots her a glance, annoyed, hoping to terrify eir but Jade only laughs. Kanaya awkwardly shifts the subject to say something about human culture.

There is a cooler in the back, enough money in Rose’s pocket to raise eyebrows should anyone look and a distinct amount of divinity and sacrilege lingering about the vehicle. They all seem to be in their 20s, young enough that there should be laughter – and there are hints of it playing in Kanaya and Jade’s mouth, even Rose’s – and its 10 pm on a Thursday night. But no one laughs, at least not yet. So, if you will, imagine the snickering, the good-hearted mutters of, “this is such a bad idea” and hushed whispering as they weave through the sleeping suburbs into the highway. It’s there; it’s just not audible. 

* * *

Google Maps says it’s a six hour and twelve minute drive. (To where? No one asks. _To freedom_ , says Jade. _To that next sunset_. Kanaya says, patiently and with the air of someone used to it, _to the next state over_.)

Rose gets a text from He Who Would Drop It Like It’s Hot, Knight of His Own Forfeiture, Vinyl Limbed of the Highest Order, Texan Douchebag Himself.

TG: west coast east coast midwest don’t count southhhhhhh  
TG: meet me in california  
TG: i was thinking of getting away there  
TG: wanna spend six months in the woods teaching raccoons how to produce podcasts  
TG: the raccoons teaching me how to carve the words ass and butt into squirrels acorns  
TG: truly bounteous and beautiful cultural exchanges yo  
TG: while i shit in a hole  
TG: they will recruit wiz khalifa and drake to speak on my newest audio masterpiece  
TG: im thinkin of naming it the resbahjening new media jams  
TG: maybe ill invite ira glass or sarah koenig  
TG: give it that legit feel  
TG: also ps please buy toilet paper ty  
TT: Cease.  
TG: nah  
TT: Dave.  
TG: thats not my name remember  
TG: apparently im some big deal now of whatever  
TG: turntables and sick beats  
TG: even alt wise my narrative cant be tied down to one trope  
TG: see even now i gotta do that self aware fourth wall leaning bullshit and chew up the scenery  
TG: classic dave  
TT: You capricious, overly self-aware, fugacious fuckboy.    
TT: We’re trying to find the Queen of the Roads.  
TG: oh  
TG: cool  
TG: that took long enough  
TG: i mean seeing as u and her were always very kanye and taylor but like why now i guess  
TG: thought you were doin ur dave lynch fallen london combo impression  
TT: A driver.  
TT: Ey want a certain demon's head on a stick.  
TG: arent you  
TG: you know  
TG: a demon yourself  
TT: I am.  
TG: so whats this  
TT: Uncertain.  
TT: Ey wants to find the Queen of the Roads.  
TT: Ey probably knows They Who Holds The Stars Tightly, Watcher of the Sparse Nights, etcetera, is the demon to end all demons, and has recruited me and an old partner to take her down permanently.  
TT: This is a funeral pyre waiting for a match.  
TG: you could knock eir out  
TT: Crude, but effective.  
TT: I’ll consider your proposal.  
TT: I think we’re driving out of range. I’ll talk to you soon.  
TG: dont destroy too much out there  
TG: you don’t wanna piss her off

* * *

She feels her power ebb away as soon as they get on the freeway. She will never be an ordinary girl, but this is the closest it gets; speed limits ramping up to seventy, trucks the size of mountains and she is nearly a girl in a pickup truck with two demon hunters. Despite herself, she is – anticipatory. The city controls her more than she controls it, nowadays, and feels like a pressure cooker she constantly has to maintain. She presses her forehead against the window and closes her eyes, listening to the radio.

* * *

The highway is jammed – ROse muses as to whether everyone else had the idea to hunt a demon for date night - and Jade swears.

“ _Du ma may_ ,” she mutters. A truck driver cuts her off and she rolls down the window manually and yells, “Where’d you get your license, Wisconsin? Yeah, keep driving, _mi chang_!”

Rose swears the roads are going to eat them alive. The stretch of freeway, trucks moving by inches, is a glittering centipede making progress in tiny increments. Jade's air conditioning system is fucked, but it at least still works: cold air blows at her through recently dusted slats. She wishes for something to jolt her awake.

* * *

Rose becomes aware of things; of Kanaya’s lack of body heat and the fabric of her military jacket brushing against her arm. Of Jade’s propensity to sing to every song on the radio loudly and unabashedly. Sometimes ey rolls down the window and serenades truckers who aren’t even listening, their eyes on the road and their radios playing country or NPR.

In the first hour, they’ve passed the bigger cities of the state, large neon casino signs enticing them to lose their consciousnesses in front of a machine. Gas stops and rest stops have begun to crawl into the small window real estate Rose possesses, craning her neck ever-so-slightly to see past Kanaya’s horns.

There are the billboards. They are varying and always of people smiling or looking solemn. She can tell how close they are from the cities by their content; first it’s advertising local radio stations, universities, then casinos, then gambling or drug addiction hotlines. Then, she knows they’ve reached the towns when she sees **JESUS CHRIST DIED FOR OUR SINS** in black with a huge cross next to it.

The freeway transmutes into something less recognizable. She cranes her neck to see passing telephone towers, as big as any skyscraper she ever rose on her own. She feels a chill go through her.

She is beginning to blink again. Blinking is a weird sensation, a pause between breaths; the expression of the eye not believing what it sees.

* * *

The interstate is a straight line into hell and back. Around 2 a.m., they stop to refuel. They’re somewhere in Vision Acres, the map tells them, but little else. Kanaya tells Jade she’ll take over. Rose is muddied with sleep-craving, her hair uncombed and her sweater smells of peanut butter from when Jade wanted a snack. Even Kanaya looks vaguely cold and fatigued, her military jacket crinkled and a hair out of place.

Jade does a handstand while waiting for the truck to fill up, grinning with eir shirt tucked into their jeans. Ey flips upright, long black hair a mess. Ey parts it with eir hands to see and gestures to the gas stop diner slash store. They walk in, the woman behind the counter reading _Gone Girl_.

Jade is somehow alive and talking. Ey is rustling the plastic wrappers of snack packs and humming to eirself. Ey is looking at every product in the store, flipping through snack packs and packs of teeth whitening strips like a Rolodex. Rose, unkindly, thinks it’s Jade marking eir territory.

Behind eir, Kanaya follows. Jade finally buys jerky and a Gatorade. Kanaya stops to look at the car tools on a shelf next to the counter. Meanwhile, a man with tattoos in a non-English language comes in and buys a lottery ticket, eyes the group of them behind the bill of his trucker hat and nods to Jade before leaving.

After paying up, they all use the restroom. Most of the toilet is steeped in dimness, the fluorescent bulb mostly illuminating the toilet bowl. When she gets up to wash her hands and look in the mirror a smattering of black dots on the glass greets her. She checks her phone with bleary eyes: 2:41 a.m.

When she exits the toilet, she finds Jade and Kanaya at the tables provided in the store. (She imagines them being used for last-minute hot dogs and Hot Pockets.) They are bent over a wrinkled, used paper map and she can see the sharpie all over it with Jade’s handwriting (her rambling, sleepy brain asks _how do you know that it’s Jade’s_?). She follows the line, weaving and curling, down the coast, until she sees it go straight off into the ocean.

Jade smiles at her when ey look up. “You ready to go?”

* * *

Rose thinks that she must know they are looking for her. The Road-Queen must know, because these are her roads they are driving, the same recycled air in the truck her breath, the lights blinding their eyes the pearls of her jewelry. Rose can feel her in everything they pass. There are – when she negotiated with the Road-Queen about territories she never understood but now she sees the immensity of the world beyond her panoply of crusted buildings and mouths. The billboards have tapered off the deeper they go into the country – now they mostly pass factories lining the sea.

The factories are behemoths – no, they are leviathans – they are jellyfish in the night sky strung with lights. They are cranes and buildings fitted together by virtue of great billowing plumes of smoke that scud the sky. Rose watches them, palsied. They are beautiful monsters, almost tricking her into thinking they are not of this world, their lights eerie imitations of stars. They could be moving, if she were less awake.

She blinks. The sensation is still strange.

* * *

4 a.m. and they enter the nebulous land of fog on the road. Jade switches on the brighter headlights, but the fog is relentless; the highway gets so clouded that soon Jade is navigating only by way of the lights of the trucks in front of them. In these doldrums the fog sporadically rolls in and out; the road clear and then white rushing in like waves breaking onto shore. They get off the 106 quickly and pull into the smaller roads, the transition both jarring and smooth. The trees lining the interstate give way to real woods, thickly obscuring the gibbous moon that’s been beaming down into the dashboard and giving them only the shadows of foliage. The road is beginning to curve again, and they go up hills and past houses with porch lights that turn on as they pass by. Jade is no longer singing, eir hands steady and gripping the steering wheel.

Rose has telltale tingles on her neck and grips the sleeves of her sweater with her fingers. She is cold and she knows that by now the Road Queen is watching. The woods are not of the road, but they know of it, and they are reaching towards them. Each time Jade swerves, Rose or Kanaya lean into each other and they say nothing, only shift when the road is straight again.

* * *

The tunnel springs out of the woods fully formed. Rose doesn’t register the artificial orange lights until they’re in nearly a quarter way and blinks rapidly. Then, a rush of sound; Jade’s wound down both windows and is honking loudly. **HOOOOOOONK. HOOOOOOOOOONK.** The sound reverberating around the enclosed tunnel until it smacks them right back. Jade’s laughing, endless, wind mussing up everyone’s hair, the world entirely tinted warm and the abrupt coolness waking them up. The tunnel is short, this far out, and Jade winds the windows back up when they cross over to the other side, moonlight still shining. Ey is breathless, and Kanaya is smiling ever-so-slightly.

* * *

Dawn is licking the sides of the horizon, its herald coming in lilac and purple, when they come up on the dunes. The sunrise is muted. The light is blocked out by clouds, so only hints of toned-down orange and yellow peek out amidst grey, but it’s still beautiful. It’s 7 a.m. when they finally stop, and Rose is struck by the sight; sand for miles, clumping bushes and trees dotted across the landscape. The sky, after the sunrise, is a grey-silver mirror of clouds and Rose’s breath is still stolen.

They drive up all the way to the beach. By then, even Jade is utterly exhausted. Rose, to her shame, snuggles in her sleeping bag far from high tide while the two hunters are still unloading, and falls asleep before they do.

* * *

Rose dreams.

Jade is looking at her. Rose remembers for a flash second, Jade’s real smile and the daybright color of eir eyes, the skin around them crinkling and eir ruby shoes –

“I wish you remembered me,” Jade says starkly. “I wish you remembered all of it, us, together.”                                        

Rose’s eyes sting. “You’re incorrigible,” she says, voice thick. “I thought after our chats, you’d learn to be subtler.”

Jade shakes eir head. “Nah,” ey say. “Being subtle is for weenies.”

Rose laughs, broken laughter, and the moment collapses; they get back in the truck, and keep driving.

The dream ends.

* * *

They wake at 4 p.m., to a still cloudy day. They brush the sand off their clothes and drive into the small town for food and supplies. They pass confederate flags in antique stores, gun shops – Jade has that look in eir eyes and Kanaya just shakes her head. They find a Safeway and buy things to stuff into the hard cooler; expensive coffee (Rose’s choice), bacon, eggs and Mexican cokes. Kanaya buys pig liver in a box, blood swishing around, and gives the cashier a barely noticeable wink.

The townspeople’s accents are thick and overly nice, to the point where their cashier tells them, _oh honey, this is much cheaper next door, get it there and save yourself some pennies, darlin._ Rose is so out of her element it’s almost laughable. After that, the clouds open; Jade is arguing with Kanaya about parking and Rose wonders, for a minute, why no one thought to pack a rain coat. They pour out of the truck. Rose is struck with something as she watches Jade and Kanaya tease each other.

“I am perfectly certain,” Kanaya says, “that you were of dangerous proximity to the curb. Voicing my apprehension does not make me a slanderous traitor.”

“You are a perfectly certain traitor!” Jade replies. “I was nowhere near the curb.”

“You seemed to want to propose matrimony between the curb and the tires, Jade,” Rose says. Jade rolls her eyes, an impressive feat in the rain, and Kanaya muffles a laugh behind her hand.

* * *

“How did you lose your soul, Jade?” Kanaya asks eir. They’re idling outside the rent-a-shower slash laundromat, waiting for Rose to emerge. Stack 16 quarters into the slats of a machine for 3 minutes of hot water and push it in to start. _Click. Click. Click. Slam._

“I just forgot where I put it, ‘naya,” Jade replied, shelling a dollar lollipop ey’d dispensed out of a gumball machine.

“You are exceptional at being obtuse. Almost as proficient as – ” Kanaya stops.

Jade frowns. Ey looks at Kanaya. “Why all the questions now? Instead of before?”

“Before, I was convinced you’d done this to unite us and jolt her memories. But I’ve seen what you’ve been doing. You’re drawing her out and Rose is – Rose is bait, a city queen breathing in-between air, she’s an inflammatory soul on the gravel. Is this your game? Her for your soul, even trade? Are you content with using her as collateral?”

Jade leans back, sucking eir lollipop and smiling real slow as ey takes in Kanaya.

“I love you!” Jade says. “I love you, Kanaya, and you are and have always been my partner, but imply that I would hurt her again – ”

Kanaya doesn’t even see eir draw until the butt of eir rifle hits the gravel.

Rose emerges from the showers, towel folded neatly in her hands, her hair combed but damp. “Hunters,” she says, a shadow of her old power in her voice, “always butting heads.” She squints at the bright sunlight. She passes Kanaya to get into the truck.

“I can fight my own battles.” She says quietly. “I’ll be fine.”

Kanaya stares at her for a long moment and then follows.

* * *

They find a place that’s still open past 7 p.m. in small town Americana, a tucked away tasteful restaurant with a peculiar menu. Jade orders pineapple macaroni and cheese. Kanaya orders a steak with pineapple-based sauce. Rose orders a Hawaiian burger. Jade eyes the pineapple lamp on their table – the silver cutlery and napkin next to it – and says, “What does our map say again, Kanaya?”

“We’re in Florence, Oregon.”

“Florence is weird.”

Still, pineapple theme or no, they are starving. The food served is tangy and delicious. The server is not at all perplexed by three drenched young people – one with horns no less – and just busies herself with cleaning up. The entire restaurant is empty. Rose watches the rain lighten as they eat.

* * *

Kanaya drives. Kanaya drives with an almost obscene respect for the speed limit; Rose watches the arrow never tick up past 70, and she wonders if anyone else has ever found Kanaya’s patient discipline terrifying. Night is falling again – Rose checks her phone. Sunset watch is around 9:50 pm in July. The weather is a seventy that dips slowly into sixty as orange shades the windows.

10.30 p.m.: They find an abandoned gas stop between Nowhere and Tourist Trap. Jade flicks eir wrist. Kanaya snorts.

* * *

They pass through a college town, kids on skateboards all too used to their home being a wayby for America. Dunsmuir.

11:41 p.m. and they find an all-hours lakefront motel in Dunsmuir. The rest of the town is locked up but for the bars, so of course there are staggering teenagers and adults in hot clothing and blaring music. Rose itches, her hands curling and uncurling, but Kanaya gives her this look and says, quietly, “You’re glowing.”

She looks down at her fingers, alight with greed, and she breathes in her hunger with no small reticence.

They load their duffel bags and backpacks into the room. The motel room’s large, clean and carpeted. It even has a little kitchen to the side. There’s a fold-out couch and at the back of the room, glass doors leading out to a patio facing the lake. The room smells like a mix of disinfectant and lavender, a nice touch. Rose finds herself gravitating to the nightstand, staring at the light bleeding through the thin lampshade.

Jade says appreciatively, “They even have soap.”

Rose wants to laugh. A month ago she was sleeping in the Grand Hyatt. Alas.

Kanaya and Jade retreat outside for a moment with their packs and Rose's shoulders tense. She remembers their confrontation earlier, and she peeks through the glass eyehole. A fish eye lens view, she watches as Kanaya draws the knife she's clipped on her jean pocket the whole time and offers out a hand to Jade. Rose feels like some sort of voyeur. Jade takes it and she watches as Kanaya slices eir's palm open -

Wards. She wants to smack herself, _of course_ , wards. They're demon hunters.

Jade, Kanaya and Rose change and fall into the soft king-size bed, Jade sandwiched in the middle. Rose has a hard time falling asleep, the pillow coverings scratchy and unlike what she's used to, but she dozes off soon enough.

* * *

Rose wakes up around 3 a.m. and eases out of the bed, careful of any creaking. She grabs her jacket and the motel’s cheap plastic slippers on her way out the doors –

The view of the lake shimmering is enough to ease her from wanting to take the truck and find the nearest gas stop with cigarettes.

She isn’t surprised when, an age later and a day, Kanaya is beside her.

“Rose,” she says. “We’ve done this before.”

Rose cuts her a glance, violet-eyed, powerful enough that it’d flay a road warrior alive but not Kanaya.

“You know who I am,” Kanaya says. The moon seems to be swallowing the lake whole.

“I know who you were,” Rose replies. “Who we are now is a different world altogether.”

Kanaya gazes at her steadily.

* * *

The next morning, they scrub the sleep out of their eyes. The bathroom is clean, to their delight: Jade spends an entire hour in the shower drowning eirself before Kanaya knocks politely on the door. There's shampoo and even conditioner; a luxury. Jade despairs at the lack of tiny plastic free toothbrushes, and Kanaya bends over to reach into Jade's pack and bounces eir toothbrush off eir forehead.

Bar any fighting, they all brush their teeth and go through their separate morning routines. Kanaya and Rose both strain over the sink, claiming portions of precious mirror space trying to put on makeup and Jade hollers, "STOP PAINTING YOURSELVES!" from outside. Then they load back into the truck.

They drive past forest until they reach a larger town. It’s 8:55 a.m. and they miraculously find (read: Google Maps) the only open diner. It’s nautical-themed, the mermaid on their sign waving merrily at them. Before they go in, Jade tells them to sit down first and that ey’ll be right back.

The diner is like any other diner Jade’s been in; half-crowded with families jammed in booths, with baby chairs and coloring pages and crayons. Bikers sit slumped over their coffees. They sit down in a corner booth, bas in the soft early morning light and wait to be served. An old man in a white food-stained shirt comes over with a notepad and sizes them up. He says with a conspiratorial air, “You ladies on a mission?”

“Us people,” Kanaya says, “are looking for a demon.”

“Ah, yes,” he nods sagely. “Demons. Tricksy bastards, the lot o’ em. Can’t wait to vote ‘em out of the country, yes sir…”

“I’ll have an omelet,” Rose says. “No cheese. And coffee.”

“I’ll have scrambled eggs and hashbrowns.” Jade adds. “Water, please.”

“Steak. Rare.” Kanaya says. “And a cup of coffee.”

“Ah, I – of course. Comin’ right up.”

He walks away with a confused expression.

To Rose, the morning doesn’t seem real. They’re in a 24-hour diner, metaphorically flipping the Road Queen off. They should be scrambled eggs on someone else’s plate by now.

Almost like an answer, a woman comes over. She’s dressed in jeans and an open navy button-down shirt, revealing a yellow shirt that just says THISTLE over where her heart would conceivably be. Her nails are all bitten-down and her eyes are filmy. Rose grips her butter knife. Kanaya has her lipstick in her hands in a second, but Jade doesn’t even move to take eir rifle and greets the woman warmly. Ey then accidentally knocks over the salt and apologizes.  

“Let me buy you a coffee, Miss.” Jade says. “You look tired.”

Thistle Woman cackles and gives the old man a sharp nod. Rose looks at Jade, waiting, but Jade isn’t even looking at her. The coffee is served almost immediately. Kanaya looks ready to rip the cup out of the woman’s hands. Thistle Woman sips her coffee. Rose’s stomach sinks; they’re surrounded. They are going to die in an ocean-themed diner. Her first thought after that is: _Dave is going to be laugh._

“Provoking the Road-Queen to come out of hiding will do you no favors,” Thistle Woman says. “You haven’t even been trying to find her.”

Jade grins. _Are you sure?_

The woman – the creature – sips her coffee, then scrabbles at her throat.

“I knew she’d send an envoy,” Jade says. “Consider you my first warning. I salted your safeguards, so don’t try fighting. I circled the diner and bribed the staff, and they may be hers still, but they’re more mine than yours.”

The woman dies in incandescent flame and no one sees it but them. One of the bikers looks up from her coffee, eyes bloodshot, but doesn’t say anything.

Rose and Kanaya look at eir.

“I’ve been planting sigils across the coast, while we’ve been riding,” ey say. “Every temple of power she has; the gas station, the motel, the beach. More, even.”

Even Kanaya looks stunned.

Ey grins. “I’m not the only one. Terezi is with Dave on the East Coast, spreading what they can.”

Kanaya finds her voice. “And the Midwest? The South?”

“Aradia and Sollux are in New Orleans. John’s in the Midwest, dazzling them with his magic card tricks.”

Ey grins, and Rose, for the first time, sees the god and witch hiding underneath. Eir eyes, which had been a muted hazel the whole drive, flash emerald green, that reminds her of a dying sun.

“I’d be kinder, with a soul,” ey say. “I’d be me.”

“Fuck,” Kanaya says.

“She should be scared of me, but then again, everyone forgets to be scared of me,” Jade says.

“Even us?” Rose finally asks.

Jade looks at her for a long moment. “Never you,” ey say. “Sorry. If I scared you. But are you still with me?”

“If you’ll have me,” Kanaya says, looking at Rose.

Rose sighs. "Oh, for - does this mean I have to pay for gas?"

Jade blinks.

"She may have your soul," Rose says. "But you're mine too."

* * *

Driving on the cliffs is an exercise in trust; Jade’s the one driving but even so Kanaya grips the arm rest tightly. Every steep turn could be their last. Just jerk the wheel slightly left and they could be sea-sunk debris. At some point while they’re driving up a steep incline, the road looks like it cuts off and if they drive straight they’ll fall off into oblivion or go straight up into the sky. Kanaya, knowing Jade, opens her mouth, but Rose cuts her off.

“Jade,” she says warningly. Jade turns to look at her and eir mouth slides into a truly luminous, terrifying set of canines.

“Jade,” Kanaya tries, but it’s too late. Jade revs the engine, and they start to speed up, and Rose has died so many times but her heart doesn’t know it and starts thumping through her veins.

“You love me anyway,” Jade reminds her – or them both – or someone else unseen, and the roar of the truck making it past that harrowing road is enough to drown almost everything else out. Rose and Kanaya are both breathing hard.

“You are going to be the end of me, Jade,” Kanaya says tiredly, and Jade bursts out laughing. Kanaya tries to maintain dignity but she’s chuckling anyway and soon enough so is Rose, until their laughter fills the car.

We’re alive.

* * *

The radio plays Beyonce at height of her artistry, and the sun is cutting into their eyes. The ocean, on Jade’s side, claims every inch of the horizon, the sky pulling back out of respect. It hurts, Rose thinks, to be witness to all this beauty. The windows are rolled down only slightly, a fingerspan of height to let the wind through. It’s late in the day. Rose doesn’t check the time on her phone – the sun’s glare too bright – but as she listens to Jade sing loudly she knows she’ll remember this forever. Their faces stamped in brightness, the songs forever burning in her mind, even the ache of her back from sleeping in motels. The people she loves dearly.

She doesn't blink even with the light in her eyes. She wants to remember every second of this.

The hurt and distance is still there and the soul is not yet retrieved, but she’ll remember this.

**Author's Note:**

> http://disparition.bandcamp.com/track/pull, during the first part of the trip. Alternatively: a good road trip mix.  
> Lemonade - Beyonce near the end.  
> http://disparition.bandcamp.com/track/analog right after Lemonade. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! After the author reveal I'll put up more of the influences that were prevalent in this fic, but here's a slightly censored list:
> 
> Alice Isn't Dead (podcast)  
> Carmilla (web series)


End file.
